


Marking

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Come Marking, Dom/sub, Drabble, Dry Humping, M/M, Masturbation, Samifer - Freeform, Wing Kink, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants to make sure Lucifer never forgets him for even a second - and he knows just how to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless, pointless porn that I refuse to apologise for. (Although to be fair, that's sort of turning into my trademark.)

Having Lucifer beneath him, thinks Sam, may well be his favourite place for the angel. Sprawled out on his front, spread out like a sacrifice for Sam’s eyes only, trembling with tension despite not having been touched… It’s beautiful, perfect, and the huge, heavy wings that branch from Lucifer’s shoulder blades and splay motionless and gorgeous and extended on the floor on either side of him are just the icing on the cake.

On his feet and standing by Lucifer’s prone form, Sam strokes his cock slowly, languidly. It’s already hard and warm in his hand, and although he’d rather be inside Lucifer right now - the sloppy wetness of his mouth, the tight clench of his ass - the sight before him is more than enough to get his blood racing.

He plants his foot on Lucifer’s back, because he can, pressing down directly beneath the shoulder blades so it’s flat against the line of his spine from heel to ball. He presses down a little with it, bears down because he knows Lucifer can take it, and bites his lip at the choked, stuttering noise it draws from the angel.

And just because he can, just because this is something he can do, he bears down further, putting more weight onto it, hand working faster on his cock as Lucifer groans and writhes beneath him, whole body shifting against the cool, lacquered wood of the floor. His leaking cock, trapped between him and the boards, leaves trails of sticky smears across the shiny surface, but it’s the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

One wing, heavy and thickly feathered and a blinding, opalescent white, rises abruptly from its place sprawled out on the floor, beats at the air hopelessly for a moment. The noise it makes - a deep, dull noise like the slap of a hand on cloth - travels all the way through to Sam’s bones, and by the time it’s lying restless but still on the floor again, Lucifer’s desperate arousal once more controlled, he’s so close to coming he think he might die.

Beneath him, Lucifer’s rocking against the floor, hips raised slightly to allow him the space to drive his cock back and forth through the small puddle of precome that’s collected beneath his leaking cock, gasping with the contact. There’s tears in his eyes - from Sam’s foot pressed hard and choking against his back, from the delicious stab-ache of arousal deep in his stomach, from the bright friction of his wings as they slide against the floor with every shallow thrust. There’s hot, empty need on his face as he humps at the floor, too desperate to care about embarrassment, gasping with the prickle of  _dirtybadwrongsogood_  of it all.

Sam notices the action, of course he does, but he’s too far gone to care. All it takes is another couple of rough tugs on his cock, staring down at the mess he’s made of his archangel as the fat head of his cock slips slickly through the circle of his fingers, and he’s coming, hot and wet and loud.

Coming all over Lucifer’s wings.

The spunk is a little hard to see, off-white against the pure, heavenly absence of colour that is Lucifer’s wings, but that doesn’t stop Sam from groaning at the blasphemy of it, at the spurts of his come that stain those beautiful feathers from his angled-down cock. It’s gorgeous, debauched, and he moves his foot from Lucifer’s back to rub his mark into the feathers with his toes just to hear Lucifer whimper. The archangel won’t wash it off, Sam’s made sure of that - at least, not until they do this again - and there’s a bone-deep satisfaction that comes from knowing Lucifer will be walking around in public like this, wings concealed and invisible but still filthy with the touch of Sam.

"You’re mine," whispers Sam, a little shakily, watching as the wings shudder and ripple, feathers standing up as Lucifer gets closer to orgasm from his frantic rutting at the floor, the already-drying strands of come on them hanging in threads stretching from pinion to pinion. It’s a brutal mark of ownership on something pure, something holy, and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen something quite so beautiful.

"Yes," says Lucifer, and his voice is a sob, words gasped out with his cheek flat against the varnished slats of the floor, hips grinding desperately at the unyielding surface below him. "Yes, my lord. I’m yours."


End file.
